


Thou'lt Come No More

by tinydooms



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms
Summary: It was afternoon by the time the news reached Adam: that Princess Maria-Eleanor de Courcy had been taken ill with a fever and was confined to her bed.





	Thou'lt Come No More

 

**Thou’lt Come No More**

 

_Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,_

_And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,_

_Never, never, never, never, never!_

_Shakespeare, King Lear_

 

There was a curious air to the Chateau de Courcy when Adam woke one cold late-winter morning. Nanny Beatrice served him breakfast-hot chocolate, croissants, and jam-as she always did, and helped him to dress, and set him to his morning lessons the same as always, but there was a worried tilt to her eyebrows that belied her cheeriness. Adam sat at the nursery table and worked at arithmetic (he was learning to multiply fractions) and wondered what the matter was. As the morning stretched out, he began to wonder something more: where was his mama? Maria-Eleanor was usually here by nine o'clock, to collect Adam and take him down to the library, or out to the gardens, or anywhere, really. Where was she?

“I'm sure she'll be here soon, dear,” Nanny Beatrice said, but still her eyebrows looked worried.

It was afternoon by the time the news reached Adam: that Princess Maria-Eleanor de Courcy had been taken ill with a fever and was confined to her bed. Adam, toasting bread by the fire on a long fork, leaped to his feet, his chest tightening.

“I want to see her!”

Chapeau, who had brought the news, knelt down to Adam's height. “Your mother needs to rest, my prince. You can see her tomorrow, perhaps, when she is feeling better.”

But Maria-Eleanor was not feeling better in the morning, nor yet the day after. Finally, Adam had enough of waiting, and escaped Nanny Beatrice to run to his mother's rooms in the north end of the castle.

The sickroom was a whirl of noise and bustle, doctors examining their patient, servants moving around carrying basins of steaming water, trays of tea and medicinal broth, new blankets to lay over their ailing princess. Adam stood in the doorway and wondered how his mother was supposed to rest and recover with all of this commotion surrounding her. Adam knew what this fever was like; hadn't he had it himself only a few short weeks ago? He knew the cold that sat in the bones, the ache of the fever as it raced through the body, the weakness and lethargy. Mama had sat beside him night and day, reading to him and singing, as doctors had poked and prodded and finally pronounced him out of danger. Adam hovered in the doorway. He had not been as sick as Maria-Eleanor now was.

“My prince. What are you doing?”

The voice was Chapeau's; the tall man stood with a tray in his hands, some medicinal concoction on it. Adam felt a flash of relief; he loved Chapeau, and knew that he would not send him away.

“I want to see Mama,” he said. “I want to tell her a story.”

Chapeau smiled. “Madame la Princesse is sleeping, but you can sit with her. Come on.”

Adam followed Chapeau to the bed, where Maria-Eleanor lay resting on a stack of pillows. Her face was pale, the skin around her eyes and lips a pale purple-blue, her gold hair straggling limp on the pillows. It stuck Adam that she looked tiny, frail. So unlike she usually did, with her satin dresses and cheery smile.

“Mama?” he whispered.

Maria-Eleanor's eyelids fluttered.

“Adam?”

“Yes, Mama, I'm here,” he said, touching her hand. “I've got a story to read to you.”

Maria-Eleanor's white lips quirked at that. “You're my good boy,” she whispered. “Sit with me a while, now, will you? I'll listen.”

Adam nodded and settled down beside her. He opened his book, a collection of English fairy stories, and began to read. For a long time, he read to his mother, not stopping even when she drifted back into fever-sleep. It was not until a doctor came in and shooed him away that Adam left her side.

“I'll come back in the morning,” he whispered, and kissed his mother's cheek.

He tucked his book under one arm and made his way out of the bedroom through to the sitting room, more than a little worried. Mothers weren't supposed to get sick; they were supposed to be well, and happy, and laughing. Adam supposed it was selfish to think it, but Maria-Eleanor was meant to _be_ with him, to play with him and teach him and _not be sick_. So caught up in his thoughts was he that Adam failed to notice his father standing in the center of the sitting room, staring at him.

“What are you doing here?” the Prince de Courcy demanded.

Adam felt as though someone had dropped a bucket of cold water over him. “I wanted to see Mama, sir. She's very ill.”

“And they let you into her room?” the Prince cried. He took three steps across the room and seized Adam's arm, dragging him across to the door. “She's got a fever, boy, she could infect you! Do you think I need to be bothered with finding another heir? Get out of here and don't come back!”

“But-”

The Prince de Courcy's hand tightened around Adam's arm; he gasped at how much it hurt.

“Do not 'but' me, Adam. You stay away from her, do you understand me? If she recovers, you can see her then.”

Adam twisted in his father's grip, the band around his chest tightening. “You're hurting me!”

“And I'll hurt you more if I see you here again. Go back to your nursery.” And the Prince released Adam, and stalked back into Maria-Eleanor's sitting room.

Adam rubbed his arm, tears in his eyes, and tried to breathe. Why was Father so mean to him? Why wouldn't he let Adam see his mother?

“Because he doesn't want you to get sick again,” Nanny Beatrice said when Adam asked her. She had wrapped him up in a blanket and sat with him by the fire, stroking his hair. “You were so sick, remember, dearie? We thought we were going to lose you. Your father doesn't want that to happen. He loves you.”

Adam doubted that, rather, but he did not say so. Mama loved him, was always there with a kind word and a smile, but Father was mean and more than a little frightening. Adam supposed he loved him, but he was certainly more frightened of him.

But the Prince de Courcy had not forbade Adam from visiting the antechambers to his mother's room, and so every day, he joined the throng of courtiers and servants who waited for news of the princess. The doctors, though, were tight-lipped.

“The princess's fever has not broken,” they would say, or “Madame la Princesse must not be disturbed”.

Adam, listening to them not answering questions, saw Plumette slip out of the sickroom, and followed her into the service corridor.

“Plumette! How is my mama?”

Close to, Plumette looked worried and tired, shadows like bruises under her eyes, like she had hardly slept in days. She tried to smile when she saw Adam, to be reassuring to the younger boy, but he saw past it to the fear that gripped her.

“Tell the truth!” he said, as she opened her mouth to speak.

Plumette sighed. “Madame is desperately sick, Prince Adam. Her fever is getting worse, not better. The doctors are doing everything they can for her.”

Adam stared, his heart racing. “She's not getting better?”

Plumette shook her head. Adam stumbled away from her, and turned and flew back up the passage, back to his mother's apartment.

“I want to see my mother!” he announced, trying to brazen his way inside like he had so often seen his father do. “I want to see her _now_.”

But the doctor who met him at the door shook his head. “I'm sorry, your highness, but your mother is sleeping. Come back in the morning and perhaps you can see her then.”

And though Adam was a prince of the realm, he was also nine years old, and still used to taking orders from adults. Short of having a tantrum, there was nothing he could do, and so, disconsolate, he returned to his nursery.

In the morning, Nanny Beatrice didn't say anything when Adam left the nursery, but gazed after him with worry in her eyes to took herself off to the kitchens for news. Adam made his way to Maria-Eleanor's rooms and joined the throng, pushing his way to the doors. But no one answered his knock. There was a strange sort of energy to the room, a buzzing that filled Adam with dread. The courtiers whispered to each other in tight voices; he couldn't help but overhear.

“Where is Monsieur le Prince? Doesn't he know how serious this is?”

“But if she should-”

“Hold your tongue, the boy is here.”

 _Please_ , Adam prayed, _please don't die, Mama. Please don't leave me. Please, please_.

Adam stood by the bedroom door for hours, listening to the whispers, enduring the courtiers' sideways glances. And then, all at once, there was a tumult. The bedroom door flew open; servants rushed in and out; doctors were shouting; and then the door slammed shut again and for a long time, they waited. Adam felt suddenly cold, a great dread collapsing onto him. And he _knew_ . He _knew_.

The door opened. A doctor stepped into the crowd. “Someone fetch Monsieur le Prince.”

Adam pushed past him into the room and flew to his mother's bedside, dodging past Lumiere, setting candles in tall stands around the bed.

Maria-Eleanor was laid out under her silken covers, her hands folded on her breast, her face still and peaceful and dead. She was so beautiful that he could almost imagine she was sleeping. Adam sank down onto the mattress and stared at her, unable to breathe. _No, no,_ he wanted to scream. _Mama, no! You said you'd never leave me!_ He reached out and put his hand on his mother's wrist. Maybe she really _was_ only sleeping.

“Mama?” Adam whispered. “Mama?”

Behind him, Lumiere was weeping as he lit the long tapers. Adam could hear him trying to conceal it. Crying did not seem enough for Adam, not when the world was collapsing around him, when Mama was dead. He wanted to scream and scream and scream, but an iron band was compressing his chest and he couldn't do more than stare at his mother, lying there in her bed. Maria-Eleanor did not move, but lay there, still and cold and _dead_.

The door opened behind him. A sharp footstep crossed the door, and Monsieur le Prince's hands dropped onto Adam's shoulders Adam gasped as his father dragged him from the bed and away from his mother's side. He knew not to struggle, not to anger his father, but he stared back at his mother for as long as he could before the Prince turned him away and hauled him out into the sitting room. He knew that he would never see him mother again.

“Maria-Eleanor is dead,” the Prince de Courcy announced to the assembled courtiers.

Dead. The word rang in Adam's ears, drowning out the rest of the Prince's speech. Dead, _dead_. He sank down to the floor, gasping.

“Get up,” the Prince hissed. “Get up at once.”

But Adam could not stand. He knelt on the floor and tried to breathe around the horror gripping him, horror at his mother's death, horror at his father being the one he was left with. For a moment, the Prince looked as though he would like to hit Adam, right there in front of all those courtiers. But then Lumiere, who had followed them from the bedroom, swooped down.

“Come, my prince,” he whispered, strong hands lifting Adam upright. “On your feet now, come on.”

Adam allowed himself to be propelled out of his mother's apartment, down the hall into the service corridor. Lumiere's hands were strong on his elbows, his grip firm but kind.

“Come on, Adam, Nanny Beatrice is in our sitting room,” he said. “That's a good lad, come on now.”

“My mama-” Adam gasped. “My mama-”

“I know.” There were tears in Lumiere's eyes. “She is with the angels in heaven, my prince.”

Something snapped in Adam. What need of mothers did Heaven have? Heaven had enough mothers. _He_ needed his mother more than Heaven did! Adam broke away from Lumiere with a cry and ran blindly down the corridor, down the stairs, to the servants' sitting room. He crashed through the door, wailing.

“Mama!” he howled. “My _mama_!”

Nanny Beatrice sat on the sofa, holding the arm of a sobbing Chapeau. Plumette huddled on a chair nearby, crying into her handkerchief. Adam barely saw them as he stumbled towards Nanny Beatrice and fell into her arms, sobbing. Nanny Beatrice gathered him close.

“Oh my Adam,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “Oh, my Adam.”

Grief poured out of Adam in a torrent as he lay on her shoulder. It was hot and full of fear and desperation. _Not her, not her, why did it have to be her? What am I going to do without you? Why did this happen?_ Adam cried and cried and cried, great gulping sobs that tore at his throat, and Nanny Beatrice rocked him and held him tight.

“I'm so sorry,” she murmured. “I'm so sorry.”

At last the tears were gone, and Adam lay gasping on his nanny's lap. “I didn't even-” he gasped. “I didn't-”

“Deep breaths, now, love,” Nanny Beatrice said. She produced a handkerchief from somewhere and wiped Adam's face with it. “There's time enough later for words.”

Adam gave a garbled cry. “She's-she's _dead_ , she _died_ -”

“I know,” Nanny Beatrice said. “I'm so sorry, Adam.”

For a long time Adam lay in his nanny's arms, shivering with the aftershock of his tears, listening to Lumiere and Plumette and Chapeau and Nanny Beatrice all crying. His heart beat an awful refrain, _My_ _Mama is dead, My Mama is dead_. And he had only looked at her, only touched her hand, before Father pulled him away. He hadn't fought to stay by her side. He hadn't even been in the room with her when she passed. He hadn't even-

“I didn't even get to say goodbye!” Adam gasped, the words burning his mouth. “He-he didn't even let me kiss her goodbye!”

“What?” The outrage in his voice surprised Adam, for it was Chapeau who had spoken, and Chapeau was never angry. He looked round. Chapeau was white-faced and red-eyed and outraged. “He didn't let you kiss your mother goodbye?

Adam shook his head. Chapeau stood, wiping his eyes furiously, and held out a hand to Adam.

“Come, my prince. Come with me.”

“Perhaps it is not a good time,” Lumiere murmured. “He may be still in the room.”

“Nonsense,” Chapeau snapped. “He may be cold-hearted enough to not allow his son a chance to kiss his mother goodbye, but _we_ are not. And I doubt he's still in the room. Come, Adam.”

Adam slipped his hand into Chapeau's and let himself be led from the room. He was glad that Chapeau was there with him, and Nanny Beatrice and the others. He felt that if they asked him to do anything alone, he would collapse from the effort. Chapeau led him back upstairs, and through the service corridor behind Maria-Eleanor's rooms until they were at the bedroom itself. Then Chapeau told Adam to wait, and slipped through the door on his own. After a long moment, he was back, beckoning for Adam.

The room was empty but for the tall candles encircling the bed, and Maria-Eleanor laid out upon it. The sickroom smell had vanished, replaced by the cathedral scent of candle wax. Adam, still clutching Chapeau's hand, went to stand beside the bed.

He could see now what he had not been able to before: the shadowed eyes, the pale blue lips, the hollowness of the face. She had been so desperately ill that death was the only escape. But Maria-Eleanor was still beautiful as she lay there, still his darling mother. Adam touched her cold cheek, and bent to kiss it. _Goodbye, mama. I love you_.

“What's going to happen now?” he whispered, looking up at Chapeau.

Chapeau's eyes were so full of sorrow that Adam almost began to cry again. “We will miss her, always,” he said. “But we will never forget her, Adam. The ones we love never truly leave us.”

“It's not fair.”

“No, it isn't.”

“I'm frightened,” Adam whispered. He looked at his mother again, peaceful and quiet and dead, and he almost wished that he were dead, too, so that he could see her again.

“I know,” said Chapeau. “I know, Adam.”

It would be many long years before the fear passed.

  
  
  


 

Author's Note: This was the result of an anon prompt on Tumblr, which enlarged on a scene that I'd been thinking about writing for a while. It's a grim topic, but essential to this character's development. Many thanks to SweetFayeTanner for the beta! Please let me know what you think! 


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